Breakfast As Luncheon
by theblindtorpedo
Summary: The Bagginses are slightly eccentric even in the comfort of domesticity. But few realize how much of an enabler Sam Gamgee truly is. Or: in which Frodo tries a commoner's breakfast and finds it to his liking.


"Can you imagine, Sam, how surprised I was to awake and find a noon sun shining in my eyes?" a disheveled Frodo accused, as he slid into an empty chair at the kitchen table.

Sam turned from his assessment of the pantry to look pointedly at his master. While he would not raise his voice in criticism, Frodo would assuredly understand his meaning.

"Frodo, don't be unpleasant. You know full well that waking you is no official duty of Sam's. I thought living away from Brandy Hall had taught better appreciation for the help," Bilbo reprimanded. He proceeded to take a last bite of his luncheon, stand up and pat down his waistcoat contentedly. He then swept up the scattered books and papers that constituted a mealtime distraction, although Frodo suspected he had done little work. Bilbo liked the appearance of being scholarly, but he preferred a good meal to books just as much as any hobbit.

"Clean yourself up and put some proper clothes on before coming to meals, my dear boy. I don't say I mind it, but we Baggineses have enough bad habits as it is. Wagging tongues will never cease if they think I raised you to be a rogue." Bilbo smiled and hurried away in a valiant attempt to negate, through speed, the inevitable unbalancing of the load in his arms.

"Am I rogue-ish?" Frodo questioned his gardener.

"In my imaginings rogues are darker and don't favor fine yellow nightshirts."

Frodo laughed and pulled at the incongruous article of clothing. It had been a gift from Bilbo upon his adoption and was of finer make than he had ever been accustomed to. Ten years later and it still held up well, although he had needed it re-stitched on several occasions.

"What you choose to do in your home is none of my business. You can bed at dawn and not rise until tea-time and I'd still be bringing the vegetables to the pantry, but, begging your pardon, I do agree with Mr. Bilbo. Not that I mind waking you most mornings."

Frodo groaned and rubbed his eyes. "You're right. Yet perhaps if I am ever once again visiting relatives I will have the good sense not to go for moonlit strolls."

"At least without someone to keep an eye on you."

Frodo's expression of surprise shifted to delight.

"I would be honored if you'd care to join me some time Master Gamgee."

The exchange was typical. Sam would allude, Frodo would invite. It was a simple web of propriety, masking a friendship of mental equals. Any questioning minds would be acquiesced by the impression that the young master was simply using the gardener in place of the servants he would have had at his disposal if he had remained at Brandy Hall and Sam would not be out stepping his boundaries by asking to accompany his master in companionship, rather than service.

"I'd like that. Will you be wanting me to pick something special for supper?"

"I can't think about preparing supper now. Tell me what's left in the pantry. I know you meant to go to market today, but has my glutton of an Uncle left me a morsel? Wait, what's that in the bowl?"

He pointed at a smooth brown mixture laying on the counter.

"I was practicing making a pancake. It's soon to be Marigold's birthday and she does all the cooking at home, so I thought I'd make breakfast that day. She does loves them so. I used nothing from Bag End, if that's your worry."

"No, no, of course not! I do wonder though, what is a pancake? I believe I've never had one before."

"Never had a pancake! Well, we can fix that right here and now, Master Frodo!"

"I feel terrible. Here you've gone to all this trouble, even bringing in strawberries, and I don't believe I can finish them all." Frodo stared morosely at the pancakes left on his plate.

"If you could finish a batch of my pancakes you'd be the first," Sam said, "if you have anything to carry it, I can take this out to the pig slop at Cotton Farm. Now you'd best be getting dressed, Master Frodo. It's near three and I reckon you have lots to do with Lithe starting next week."

"Twelve years my junior and you are more right than I ever am. Thank you, Sam, I shall."


End file.
